


Be At Peace, My Love

by ThatDamnKennedyKid



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Because these two babies never get to be happy, Connor is a cinnamon roll, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, Fuck you Ubisoft, M/M, and Arno's wishing he could stick to his diet
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-27
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-27 17:13:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14430318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatDamnKennedyKid/pseuds/ThatDamnKennedyKid
Summary: When Arno shuffled his pseudo-son aboard the Aquila, he didn't exactly think it would end up like this.





	1. Aquila

The man is remarkable. Sue him. All of this time, living in the filthy, blood-soaked streets of Paris and fuelled mostly by despair, alcohol and a need for vengeance, some kindness was bound to seem like a remarkable thing. And it was likely that he would have gotten over that too, given some time and some more exposure, but the facade never fell and the rug remained fastly under his feet. And now, to make his miserable life just a little worse, that little shit was up to something. 

It hadn't been easy. First Napoleon lost his mind and declared himself Emperor. His own Brotherhood - the one he was exiled from, despite being the landlord - decide that his plan to turn the madman's Apple over to the Al Mualim in Egypt was a terrible one and try to take it from him. Somewhere in the middle, the tiny bastard decided he wanted in. Then, in petty retaliation, he took the Brotherhood's own Apple right out from under them. With two hand in hand and an orphan that would not leave him alone, he took off for the coast. None too thrilled with his choices, the Brotherhood came for him and his infamous light feet were the only things that save their lives. That lead to them hopping a ferry across the Thames, keeping a low profile in poor inns until he could buy fare on the first ship with a captain that glowed blue. 

That lead him here, emerging from below deck for the first time in days. Sea sickness hit him harder than he had anticipated, but it seemed the worst was finally over. He was able to stand without gagging, so good progress. 

"Léon?" He called. There were only so many places he could be on a small ship like this one, but the little bastard was his own brand of problematic. 

"Lookin' for your little rascal?" One of the crewmates called, the accent unfamiliar.

" _Oui_. Have you seen him?" His English was not fantastic, and he repressed winces at his own accent in the language, but he was passable. 

"Aye. At the bow, he is, with the Captain."

" _Merci, monsieur._ " He turned toward the front of the ship. Only his own natural grace and years of free running saved him from falling over himself. "Léon!"

"What?" Came the bratty reply. 

He climbed higher up the bow, finding Léon stradling the prow, the Captain sitting behind him with legs braced on either side of the figurehead. "What are you doing?"

He had the audacity to smirk. "Have you recovered from your sickness,  _monsieur_?"

The Captain, a mountain of a man, leaned back on the prow enough to look at Arno behind him. He was older than Arno himself, but a man aged well. He was exceptionally tall, with broad shoulders and high cheekbones. He hadn't realized it, but the man also had waist-length hair, pulled back and braided. His hood was down today, the braid hanging from his shoulders. 

"Mr. Dorian." The Captain greeted, inclining his head. "I am pleased to see you are feeling better."

"I am, thank you." He nodded back. "Is he bothering you? I can take him back now."

"He has been no trouble." The Captain slid smoothly off the prow, pulling the boy back enough so that he wouldn't fall off. He extended a massive hand, a tiny smile coming to his lips. "I apologize that our time for introductions was so short. I am Connor."

He shook the massive hand. "I was not exactly in a position to argue. I appreciate you granting me passage on your vessel. My given name is Arno."

"Arno." His voice dropped in pitch, sliding over the vowels in a sensual way not intended to be seductive. "I am pleased to make your acquaintance."

Arno shivered, releasing the hand. The letters in his bag sprung to mind and he felt guilty all at once. Just like with Napoleon. "Ah, the pleasure is mine."

"The ship is open to you. My quarters, should you have need of me, are at the end of the hall, two doors down from your own. The galley is a deck below, as is the mess." Connor clasped his hands in front of his chest in a strangely meek gesture. His frame seemed to shrink in on itself, trying to make this hulking man small in any manner. "I will do whatever I can for you. Just ask."

He smiled back, grateful for the gentility. "I'm sorry if he's been trouble."

"Hey!"

Connor chuckled, his smile a little warmer when it landed on the brat. "He has been no trouble at all. Curious, but not troublesome."

"Curious can be trouble too." He muttered darkly.

"It is the nature of children to wish to learn." Connor's voice had a very soothing quality to it, all of his vowels low and soft, his consonants smooth and round, his entire manner of speech well-enunciated and unhurried. "I am not bothered. He does not interrupt the men and listens to warnings."

"Why do you never listen to me, then?" He pouted.

"You don't climb up stuff with me!"

He rolled his eyes.

Connor glanced between the two, seeming to accept that this was their normal persuasion, then offering the boy his hand.

"Come, little bird." He said, his melodic voice taking on a sweetness. 

Without a word, Léon took his hand and hopped off. 

He cocked his hips, crossing his arms. "You so easily listen to him?" God, he sounded like his mother. 

Léon strapped himself to Connor's leg, glaring up at him petulantly. "I like him."

" _The trouble you cause me_ _._ "

" _Non! You are the trouble!_ " Léon stuck out his tongue. Connor pet down his hair, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

"Do not be harsh." Connor chided softly. 

"You don't even know what he said!" Léon cried, clinging to him tighter and feigning the beginnings of a sob.

"He is your carer. You can be gentle with him."

The boy looked up at him, face softening. He let go of Connor and latched right onto Arno.

He stumbled back with the force of the boy's hug, looking up at Connor in surprise. "How did you do that?"

Connor smiled gently, a small thing tinged with old sadness. "He has seen much. You can be gentle with him as well."

He tried not to recoil, but wasn't entirely sure he had succeeded. 

"If you have need of me, call for me. Until then, I take my leave." Connor left without further words. 

Arno watched him go, his own dormant curiosity piquing some. He forced it back down, holding Léon close. " _What did you tell him?_ "

" _He asked if you were my father. I told him you were not_." Léon didn't let his leg go. " _He's nice, Arno._ "

He sighed, the world flickering grey, but Connor in his peripheral was blue enough to glow white. " _I know. But you mustn't say anything. To anyone._ "

" _I know. I promise._ "

* * *

Arno, now unhampered by sickness and double vision, took the time to assess the crew of the ship. They were all very familiar with each other, likely the permanent crew of the ship. From the overheard conversations, they were all Colonial men, only the first mate having ever seen outside of the United States. They were also all very familiar with Connor, though the huge man did not talk very much to them. They acted as though his quiet was normal. But then, the soft, understated tenor of his voice was also easy to miss if he wasn't directly addressing you. He was also a man light on his feet, easy to miss even when he was not hiding. 

Léon had run to tell him dinner was ready in the mess. He followed the boy back down, finding him nestled between Connor and  _Monsieur_ Faulkner. The little brat gave a wicked little smirk, pointing to the open space on the benches next to the Captain. 

" _Little shit_." He muttered to himself. Léon's grin only widened. 

Connor's sharp eyes made notice of him and he quietly beckoned him over. "Eat. There is plenty."

His smile was strained and he knew it, but he sat down next to the man anyway. No need to be rude, after all. Léon's grin made it a little harder, though. "Thank you,  _monsieur_."

Connor nodded quietly, turning his attention back to the men's conversation. 

To his surprise - since he hadn't been around the sailors much until recently - the conversation was not the bawdy kind of vulgar talk normally had. They discussed the seas, their girls back home, their future plans. One man had a wife with child and was discussing names with an older sailor with three sons and a daughter. Most of them, while rough men, were quite pleasant and maintained an air of . . . class that was not incredibly common among their kind. 

"There is no alcohol." He noticed. 

"Ah, the Captain has no constitution for it." First-Mate Faulkner replied with a rough laugh. "We keep very little of it for the travellin'."

"You could bring some if you were so inclined." Connor murmured. 

"Ah, but what good is a drunken crew when the captain is sober?" Faulkner laughed, slapping the larger man on the shoulder over Léon's head. 

He nudged Connor. "No taste for it?"

"My people do not handle alcohol very well." The man replied lowly, but not unkindly. "It is not something we possessed before the white man came."

"Oh, you're-" He stumbled over his words, trying not to be ignorant to the man who had so generously hosted them across the ocean. 

" Kanien'kehá:ka." Connor supplied, the quirk of his lips telling him that he appreciated the consideration. "You may refer to us as Mohawk."

"You're Mohawk, then." He flushed a little. "My apologies, I'm not incredibly well-versed in the colonial life."

"It is fine. Many of the colonists themselves do not show us such respect. I appreciate your candor."

"That is unfortunate."

Connor nodded.

"Should I . . . take it that Connor is not your real name?"

"Connor is my English name, if that is what you mean."

"What is your true name?"

"Ratonhnhaké:ton." Connor's lilting voice and smooth accent got smoother, his enunciation like a singer's humm - all of the sounds blended together without an edge. 

"It sounds lovely." Léon snorted and began to chuckle behind his hand. He glared at the child. "I didn't ask you."

"I can't help it when you sound so cute."

Faulkner burst out laughing too. "He does, too, boy! Good ears on ya!"

Connor seemed entirely unphased. "Thank you. I am quite fond of it as well."

He kept his head down the rest of the night, just trying to stay out of the way of Léon's perceptive jabs. The little shit.

* * *

He closed the door to the lower hallway gently, trying not to make any more noise than the ship itself. 

He didn't much like being out on the ocean, but the ocean at night was somehow calming. There were no men milling about, talking, working or singing. Léon was downstairs in their shared cabin, fast asleep. He'd run himself out working with the sailors or learning how the guide the ship from  _Monsieur_ Faulkner. But now, it was nice and calm. The heat of the sun had abated and with his coat, he didn't feel the creeping chill much. The moon and stars were so clear out here too. Nothing like they had been in France, or even England. 

The hair on the back of his neck stood up when he heard the floorboards behind him creak. He swung around only to find Connor tying off the wheel and descending the stairs. 

"Mercy, it's just you." His objective was to fight as little as possible. The less people knew about him, suspected him capable of, the safer they were. 

"Yes." Connor replied, moving like a shadow across the deck. "Are you having trouble sleeping?"

"Well, I'm not sure if you would believe this, but I'm not really one for sea-faring."

Connor smiled sweetly. "You are doing well for your first time."

"It's not my first time on the water."

"The ocean is a different beast to a river, even a large lake. There is more motion and it does take some getting used to."

He pushed aside the praise. "I've never seen the stars this way."

Connor nodded, standing close enough to his side to feel the heat. "They are indeed beautiful. My favourite place to view them is from the peaks of the mountains."

"You climb mountains?"

"Yes. There are many where I come from. The air is thinner, but if you are careful, your view will be magnificent." Connor gazed up at the moon, looking on thoughtfully. "I go when I miss my mother. I feel closer to the spirits there."

"You've lost your mother?"

"My village was burned when I was a boy. She got trapped under one of the beams. She could not be saved." Connor clasped his hands together, idly fixing his glove. "But that was some time ago now."

"My condolences regardless." He looked up at the moon too. "Have you any other family?"

"We rebuilt the village in Valley Forge, but during the war is was again taken from us. My people have moved north, and it is likely I will not see them again. Otherwise, no, I have no family." Connor glanced at him. "Do you?"

"No." He frowned, the weight of the watch and the letters resting heavily on his mind. "My mother died of sickness when I was an infant. My father was murdered and the head of the family that took me in was also killed."

"You've lost much. You have my sympathies."

He smiled weakly. "It was a long time ago for me as well."

"Did you leave anyone else behind?"

" _Excuse-moi_?"

"The mother of the child."

"Oh." He swallowed past the thick lump in his throat. "Léon was an orphan before I met him. I just . . . took him in. My partner she . . . she also died some time ago. Do you have a missus back home?"

Connor shook his head. "No. My people are gone and there are not many colonial women who would wish to be with someone like me."

"I can't see why."

Connor's laugh was low and lilting, sliding effortlessly into the serenity of the night. 

"How long until we make landfall?"

"Less than a month, depending on the turns of the wind."

He nodded. 

"Do you have a place to go when we make it to the United States?"

"I hadn't gotten the chance to get that far, to be honest." He rubbed the back of his neck.

"If you want, you can stay with me at the homestead."

He looked over at the other man.

"You've already been plenty generous."

"My house is large and empty. It would be no hardship to house you or the little bird."

He hesitated. "May I have some time to consider it?"

"Of course. We will be landing in Davenport upon our return, so even if you will move on, it is in your best interest to stay a night or two."

"At your house?"

"There is an inn as well."

"Ah. Well, we'll see, I suppose."

 


	2. Davenport

Connor's homestead turned out to be a massive property, large enough to house not only a bubbly little town, but a huge game territory the princes in Europe would have salivated over. 

Connor gathered a carriage for them, loading supplies and their meagre things into the back. He'd changed from his Captain's uniform into something with more leather and hide. It was today that he saw the Captain's hair down for the first time. It was even longer than he'd expected, falling over the man's shoulders in straight cords of bark brown. His face was even more angular in the flush sunlight, his eyes like dark whiskey. He was even bigger looking in those robes, hard as it was to imagine him getting any larger. 

The ride up tot he house was longer than he thought it would be too. They passed through the little town Connor had mentioned and the residents waved happily to him. 

"Welcome home, Connor!" Some of the rough Scottish men called, laughing boisterously. 

An older black boy ran alongside their cart for a bit, waving. "Hi, Connor! I'm gonna tell my mum - she'll send fruit!"

"Thank you, Hunter. I will be down to the farm soon." Connor replied, giving a small wave back. 

Léon leant over the side of the cart, sitting in the back with the barrels and boxes, to also wave at the other boy. Hunter squealed in excitement and waved back before taking and turn and running down a laneway. 

"A friend?" He asked.

"Hunter is the son of a farmer couple that live on the homestead." Connor supplied. "They tried for a child for many years and love him dearly."

He smiled despite himself. "You seem to have a very strong community here."

"They work in the way they know how, but we are bound as my people are. Without cooperation and respect, there is nothing holding them together."

"It's all very different from France." He admitted weakly, feeling somehow chastised. 

"I imagine it would be." Connor replied easily. "You will find much about this land to be different, though perhaps Boston and Philadelphia will seem more familiar."

"Perhaps."

"Where would you like to go?"

"Pardon?"

"For your stay. Would you prefer to stay with me or go to the inn?"

" _Léon, how much money do we have?"_

_"Not much. Three hundred Franks, maybe."_

"With you, if we're not too much trouble."

Connor glanced over at him and offered a smile. "I would have known if you were trouble on the ship, Mr. Dorian."

_"You're blushing."_

_"Quiet, brat."_

Léon snickered. 

* * *

Connor was an amenable host, leading them to two rooms side by side. 

"You are welcome to stays long as you'd like."

"I don't have much, but surely there's something I can do to repay this kindness?"

Connor shook his head. "I do not need anything from you. You can move about the house as you please, but try not to disturb things in my study or the sitting rooms. The kitchen and it's goods are open to you. Hunter will be here shortly with stock from Prudence, but if there are ingredients I do not have, the inn keeper will be able to assist you, especially if they are imported. If not, I can take you into town."

"And yourself? What do you do?" Léon asked. 

"Léon!"

"It is a considerate question." Connor pet over Léon's hair. "I run errands and assist the townsfolk when I can. If I leave the homestead, I will inform you."

"Okay, good." Léon's relief was more telling about the intensity of his attachment than anything else. 

Connor smiled generously, murmuring something in his language with the kind of affection reserved for an endearment. 

"He is so troublesome." 

Connor met his gaze again. "You learned to fly once too, _terí:teri_ _._ "

Léon stuck his tongue out from the safety of Connor's shadow. 

" _Don't forget who you will be with most of the time._ " He warned. 

" _Don't get jealous, Arno. Green doesn't suit your complexion._ "

Connor tapped the boy's nose reproachfully. "Be kind,  _kanatakón:ha."_

Léon wrinkled his nose. "Fine, fine. But you'll never get me to admit I actually really like him!" Then he dashed upstairs to his bedroom. 

He shook his head. "Dramatic."

"I am glad to see it." Connor brushed some of his lengthy hair behind his ear. "So often innocence is torn from children. I am glad to see it survives in him, even through hardship."

For a brief moment, he felt intensely guilty for all the times he considered the boy an active nuisance. Connor seemed so charmed by all the things that annoyed other people, especially in children. Léon had been unadoptable in France, considered markedly undesirable. But here, Connor touched him gently, spoke sweetly and cared generously for his every need. 

"Is it alright if I cook?"

"You can do whatever you please." Connor nudged him gently. "I will show you the pantry and where everything is."

Arno planned on making himself useful to some degree - nothing ever was handed to him and he didn't intend to owe Connor more than he already did. 

* * *

Months passed in quiet companionship. The townsfolk became very friendly with them, welcoming them into their homes. 

Léon made fast friends with Hunter and the two ran the forests chasing bunnies and bringing back wildflowers. Prudence brought him root vegetables and wheats and he, in turn, made her pastry and delicate soups not common in the English colonies. 

He found he quite enjoyed this country lifestyle. It was quiet at night, Connor tended the fires and kept the house warm in the cool of oncoming autumn and Léon would bring him wild herbs from his time in the woods, wrapped in clean linens. 

He would watch Connor teach Léon how to climb the trees, run along the branches and recognize the tracks of predator and prey. It was hard to tell who stepped more wholly into who's life, but Arno was grateful he was here. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Terí:teri - Bluejay  
> Kanatakón:ha - Sparrow


	3. Boston

"I assure you, I am quite capable of running an errand alone."

"Boston has been rough, lately." Prudence wrung her hands. "I can care for the boy, at least? He can play with Hunter."

He repressed a sigh. "I appreciate the offer, but I would like to get some new clothes and shoes for him. It will do him some good to see a city again."

"If you're sure."

"I am. Thank you."

"Do your best to meet up with Connor while you're there. Try, for my peace of mind?"

"Fine. I will do my best to find him." He tried his best not to be surly, but frankly, he could more than take care of himself. He didn't need to hide behind Connor. His low profile did have Connor to thank, but his pride - what remained of it - was still somewhat wounded. 

Prudence wrung her hands once more, but ultimately let the subject drop. 

He went upstairs and stripped of his house clothes. A uniform beige, Connor had given them to him. They seemed to be made of thin leather, possibly a kind of native plant fiber, but breathed better than he was used to, as well as being supremely comfortable. 

It had been almost two months since he'd last felt the need to dress completely proper, with his breeches, silk blouse, vest and overcoat. As he was pulling on his boots - the only leather pair he'd managed to bring, knee-high and varnished black with buckles up the sides - he nudged open the window. 

"Léon! Come inside. We're heading to town."

" _Oui!_ " Came the yelled response. The thundering of feet came up the stairs not long after, followed by the sound of thudding chests and wardrobe doors. "Ready!"

He rolled his eyes, unable to repress the smile. "Wash your face and hands. I don't want you dirty."

"Arno!"

"Léon." He warned. "Wash."

" _Oui, monsieur._ " Came the pouty reply. 

He managed to suppress the grin by the time he was finished strapping his guns, sword and hidden weaponry to his body. He was tightening the final straps of the gauntlet when Léon ran up to him, decently presentable. 

"In the carriage, c'mon." He ushered the boy into the back seat. 

"No horse?"

"We're going shopping. The boxes won't fit on a horse."

"Alright." He pouted again, then climbed onto the seat with a window to the driver. "What are we shopping for?"

"Clothes and shoes, mostly. Perhaps some cloth bolts for repairs."

"A new coat, you mean." 

"No, repair cloth for the knees you wear through your chore pants." 

"You're never any fun."

He rolled his eyes less fondly this time and climbed into the driver's seat. 

* * *

Boston was a decent place, with boxy, uninspired buildings and square streets. Prudence also wasn't kidding about the aggression rising in the city (if this is what was supposed to pass for a city in the colonies), but it was certainly no more nasty than the nicest day during the Revolution in Paris. 

He roped the cart horse at a ring outside a tailor and went inside, Léon hopping alongside him. 

"It feels like forever since I've been somewhere so loud." Léon said. 

"Indeed." He pet Léon's head, then opened the door. 

"Good day, Sir." An American with a thick accent and loud voice greeted from behind the counter. 

"Good day." He replied. 

"Ah, foreign, are ya?" Greed glinted in his eye. "Where ya from, stranger?"

"I've moved over here from France." He replied, patting Léon's back. "Find some decent shoes your size. One nice pair with buckles and a work pair with laces."

"The boy yers?" The shopkeep asked. 

"I suppose so."

The shopkeep nodded sagely. "She said he was then bolted on ye? Happens more than is right. Good on ye for taking in the boy anyway."

"He's a good boy. Rowdy, but good." He dodged. Let the keep assume what he wished. 

"I've not seen ye around Boston."

"I don't live in the city. A little ways out."

"Ah."

He went over to the manufactured boys' clothes and began to sort through them. They were all rugged, but there weren't any of decent fashion. Barely a flicker between their red and beige. He would have to find a general store and see about dyes. He's had more than his fair share of brown and grey throughout the fall of France and believed that both he and Léon deserved some colour. Connor's townsfolk seemed to think so.

"Have you much else other than this?" He asked. 

"Not to your standard?" The shopkeep seemed almost offended. 

"I was hoping for possibly a high-quality cotton or silk. Something for-" He remembered last second that religion hadn't been spoilt here. "-church."

"These are mighty fine for church." Yes, definitely offended. "Don't know what lofty place you've been attending, Frenchie."

"I meant no offense."

"You walk in here as if I'm not good enough, walking like a noble."

"My apologies." Léon, bless his intelligent little heart, appeared at his side. "We'll take our leave."

"Insult my custom and then walk out? Ye right bastard!"

"I am under the impression I am not welcome here any longer." He tucked Léon behind him more firmly as men exited the back room. "So we'll be going."

"Arno?" Léon whispered.

"To the carriage, quickly."

The boy did as he was told, scurrying out the door. He was quick to follow, his agility forever his most saving grace. 

"I sees how it is."

He'd just barely managed to climb onto the driver's cradle when he was yanked back by his coat. A brutish, ugly man stood over him, leering in the most unpleasant way. Napoleon with an Apple flashed through his mind - the expression was lust. 

"Do explain." He snarked back. 

"Yous with the savage."

"Savage?!" Léon cried in indignation. 

" _Not now, boy!_ " He hissed in French. 

"Yeah, the savage.Thems call him Connor, but they ain't worth no name." The greasy man turned his leer on Léon and that just was not acceptable. 

"My eyes are down here." He sassed before slamming his gauntlet into the man's knee and scrambling to his feet, twisting around with his gun drawn on the other three men. They laughed. 

"One shot? Go for it!"

He adjusted his aim. "This is a custom model, actually. It holds twelve rounds."

Their bravado fell. 

" _They've got reinforcements coming from behind another building. Ten, by the looks of them."_ Léon reported in fear. 

" _Climb into the driver's seat through the window and tell the horse to go home in English. Then slap down the reins to get her to run. Don't stop for me, even if you think it's safe. Let her bring you all the way home. Then hide in your room."_

_"But-"_

_"Do as I say, child."_

_"Yes, sir."_

"I do not appreciate your treatment of my family."

The men Arno held at gunpoint turned to face Connor's voice, finding the hulking man standing behind them in a strange raiment Arno had never seen before. He wore his usual skin boots and leggings, but a buttoned colonial shirt in white underneath a strange overcoat were new additions. That's when Arno spotted it, small and matte on the cloth belts. 

"Yer family, eh?" The gross man had regained himself and scowled in disgust. "You one of 'em sodomites on top of a savage?"

"A sodomite?" Arno muttered to himself. Did they think he and Connor were lovers?

"What I am is none of your concern. Allow us to depart and this can end peacefully."

"With your display? I think not."

Connor inclined his head, pulled a tomahawk out of the holster at his side and a long dagger. "So be it."

What followed was roughly two and a half minutes of some of the most brutal fighting Arno had ever witnessed. He retreated to the carriage to shield Léon's eyes and tuck the boy against his chest to shield him from the spray of blood. In all his years in the streets of Paris from the Bastille to the day Napoleon crushed his final political resistance, Connor was the most, well,  _savage_. When it was over, Connor walked over and laid his hand on Argo's thigh, the other on Léon's lower back. 

"Are you unharmed?" He asked, voice characteristically gentle. 

Léon broke out of his hold and jumped into Connor's arms, breaking down into sobs. Connor merely held the boy close, whispering soothing nothings in the melancholy tenor associated with his native tongue. 

"It is over now,  _kanatakón:ha_." Connor pet down his back, nudging Arno over. He took the reins, saying something to the horse and letting her jog back along the way they'd come, Léon crying himself out and into unconsciousness on the long ride back to the estate. 

* * *

The rest of the day passed mostly in silence, Léon clung to one or the other at some point. When the boy was finally sent off to bed, Arno sat down across from Connor in the living room, watching the man read a book. He was back to his normal clothes for around the estate. But this peaceful silence was going to have to be broken at one point. 

"You're an Assassin."

Connor looked up casually, as though Arno had asked where the firewood was kept. "I am."

"I thought they had vanished here."

"They had. I am the only one."

"Who trained you? Surely not your own people."

"I was taught to fight and hunt as every other warrior in the tribe. What Achilles taught me only developed those skills more carefully." Connor stared at him searchingly. "How would you even know of the movements of the Brotherhood?"

He swallowed, flashes of Connor's strikes echoing in his mind. He could take a lot of punishment, but he was sure that if it came to a fight between them, he would certainly lose. "I was an Assassin myself, once."

"Once?" Connor cocked his head and put down his book. 

"I went against orders trying to do what I thought was right and to save the life of the woman I loved." His heart clenched. "They were who I was running from when I got on your ship in England."

Connor didn't move, aggressively or otherwise. "You kept the Apples from them."

He jolted. "How-"

"I have a special sight. The old man called it Eagle Vision."

How about that. "You have it too?"

Connor inclined his head. "I take it that you do as well."

He flushed. "That's how I decided on your ship.  _Monsieur_ Faulkner was the only captain to glow blue."

Connor sat back, assessing him. "What will you do now, Mr. Dorian?"

"What is there to do?"

"I will not keep you here if you wish to leave. The Assassins were the ones you were fleeing, and I am so."

"You're also not the French Brotherhood." Arno said with a rueful smile. 

Connor's hands folded in front of him, fingers twining together as he rested his elbows on his knees. "I am not. And I will not hold you, nor return you against your will."

They sat in silence for a bit before Arno shifted further down the couch, closer to the hulking native man. 

"Léon adores you."

"Almost as much as you,  _terí:teri_."

"What does that mean? And the name you call Léon?"

"Bluejay. I call Léon 'sparrow'."

"Bluejay?" His voice sounded indignant even to himself. 

"Your coat is as stunning as their feathers, bright and vibrant. Your voice is melodious to listen to and your agility in movement is remarkable. I have seen your displays of athleticism when you do not know I am there."

"That's not ominous." He tried to conceal the warmth blooming inside him from the compliment. "Are you often called a sodomite?"

Connor tucked some hair behind his ear. "I did not understand what the insult meant until recently, when the townsfolk explained. I have garnered the reputation, I think, because I am not married."

"Why aren't you married?"

Connor's smile was shy and handsome. "You asked me a smiling question on the ship. My people have gone, and do not marry. Colonial women are not keen on my kind, and men are afraid to be labelled sodomites, even should they fit the definition."

He blinked in surprise. "You do like men?"

Connor shrugged. "I find myself unmotivated to seek out a companion, be they male or female. In my culture, it is far from the taboo these people consider it."

"I'm surprised."

"Why? You are such a man."

"What gives you that impression?"

"If you were not, Léon would not insinuate it about you so often."

" _That little rat bastard._ "

"He told me you had a lover who turned on you. Bonaparte."

"Napoléon." He muttered with all the bitterness of a contemptuous dowager to her deflowered daughter. "Yes. I wouldn't call him a lover. I considered us friends, and in the midst of business, we had a short affair. I didn't know he was engaged to be married and my own lost love, Élise, had yet to return to France. He didn't scorn me as a lover, despite the lies, but as a person. He would walk over his mother to reach his goals like the contemptible whore that he is."

"I . . . see. You keep strong feelings for this man, even though he hurt you."

"I shouldn't." He spat, reeling himself back in. "Not strong enough to stay behind to make him change or to stop him."

Connor nodded, reaching out for his hand. "I have also had those I trusted to lead me betray that trust. It is not easy to overcome. You have strength, and my admiration for coming to a decision about him."

"Did you not?"

"George Washington yet lives, so no."

He felt himself go pale. "Oh."

"My people felt the British would offer more protection. The Commander felt they deserved death for treason. That is why they left, the six nations. Washington wished them purged, and the British made good on their promise."

"I'm so sorry."

"You need not be."

"Where did they go? Where are they now?"

"To the north, in Upper Canada with the Mississauga."

"Why remain?"

"My life has been built here, and I could not abandon the land my mother died on." Connor's smile was as melancholy as his language, as though ages of sorrow and decades of harboured pain could be expressed in syllables. 

"I left behind my homeland. The land my father perished for."

"That requires a different strength." Even Connor's hands were like paws. "The strength to let go and begin anew. This land is my home, but I think that France was no longer such a refuge for you when you left it."

"No. Everything I loved about it had been stripped away. Everyone I loved in it had been taken."

"Like the land, you too will heal. The soil here is deep and rich. Perhaps you will find it to your liking enough to bloom here as you once had in Paris."

"Did you just compare me to a flower?"

"Trees flower as well. It is trees that survive uprooting and storms. You are beautiful as a birch is beautiful - colourfully patterned, lithe, flexible and hard to break."

"You should write romance poetry. Those snobbish colonial women would be at your feet."

"If they cannot look past the tone of my skin, they are not worth being touched by my words."

"That is . . . very fair, I suppose."

"It is late. We should go to bed before Léon's desire for breakfast is too overwhelming."

"Sound logic."

The two men stood together, Connor setting more logs to the fire and Arno extinguishing the candles. They walked up the stairs, Connor slightly behind,  and paused at their opposing doors. 

"Sleep well." Connor said gently. 

"You too,  _mon ami_." 

Once in the safety of his own room, Arno let the fluttering of his heart get the better of him. 


	4. Drink

"A party?" He blinked.

"Yes. Myriam has made a good kill she wishes to share with the homestead." Connor set the leeks he'd been sent to fetch on the table. "Tomorrow night, she wishes for us to gather at the inn."

"Hmm." He scraped the carrots into the pot. "I'll have to find something to bring, then."

"A food item?"

He chuckled. "Preferably, yes. Rude to show up otherwise empty-handed."

Connor looked thoughtfully at him. "Perhaps some of the Parisian wine we returned with, or a pastry we do not make here?"

He grinned. "Pastry is a fine idea."

Connor's smile was sweet, small but charming. "What do you require?"

"I'll have to take a look at what we have. Can't be running to town on such short notice. I'll tell you after dinner."

Connor nodded. "I am going to collect the little bird."

He checked the time. "Wise choice. He'll need to clean and probably change. He likes dirt a little too much for my tastes."

Connor smiled again, turning quietly and exiting the house.

He brushed his bangs back behind his ear, glancing over at the pantry as he cleaned and cut the leeks. "I wonder what preserve I have in there. Well, it is fall. Maybe Connor knows a blueberry bush around here. Wait, perhaps the raspberry preserve . . . Ah, later. I'll check, then decide."

* * *

"Ooh, what's this?" The innkeeper's wife cooed when he set the tray down on the long table. 

" _Tarte de Linz_." Arno replied, setting them down carefully. 

"Sounds fancy."

"They were Austrian, originally, but the French adapted them. My father taught me how to make them. Luckily Connor had vanilla extract in the cellar from the last time I made a crème brulée."

"I'm so eager for them now." She clapped, then patted him on the shoulder with a sweet look. "It's been too long that Connor's been there alone. He's not had a soul in the mansion since the old man died and that's a right shame. I'm glad you came along, you and the boy."

Not quite knowing what to say, he smiled thickly and nodded. "Thank you?"

"Just be good to him is all." With her final words, she left. A few minutes later, Connor and Norris walked out of the back, trays of vegetables and fruits. Norris had a box of Canadian wine he was carrying. 

"To the table, boys!" Prudence called. 

"The meat will be out soon." Connor told the table. "Warren and Myriam are carving it now."

As soon as the venison had hit the table, it was raucous laughter, bawdy jokes and good-natured conversation. Somehow, Arno got stuck between Connor and Myriam. Léon was on the other side of the table with Hunter, animatedly deciding on where they would hear to tomorrow.

"I meant to ask, Arno," Prudence interrupted his thoughts, "I'll be taking Hunter home soon. Could I take Léon too? He can stay the night over so you don't have to worry."

"Would you? That would be wonderful. Thank you, Prudence."

"It is my pleasure. He is so sweet and good to Hunter." She patted his hand from across the table. 

"So you'll be staying the night, hmm?" Myriam nudged with a laugh that was a little too loud. "Good! Here, try some. Might not be French, but this is good stuff."

Indeed, the wine she gave him was not of Parisian quality, but he'd been wine-drunk on much worse swill than this. 

And, perhaps, he had underestimated how high his tolerance had remained after close to a year sober. Perhaps he let Myriam continue to fill his glass. Perhaps, as her movements got more sloppy and she flailed her arms more, he backed into Connor's space. Perhaps he let Connor wrap him in a sheltering arm and pull him close. Perhaps he'd settled in close. Perhaps he got more courage from the liquid than he had ever done before, and perhaps it had led him to this wonderfully awful decision. 

He'd made the tarts small, enough to eat in two bites if you were polite and one if you were like the Scotsmen who worked the mill. 

Tucked against Connor's side and taking up an arm, his alcohol-addled mind figured it was only polite that when he took a tart, to offer Connor one. Instead of simply handing it to the man, he immediately went to feed it to him. Connor looked surprised for a long moment, but then ate the tart from his hand without complaint nor mention of the odd behaviour. 

He shivered less than subtly as the lips passed over his fingers and delighted in the way Connor looked at him, feeling like a flighty damsel in a romance novella. The older man didn't seem to mind, just holding him close. 

It was through Myriam's drunken pushing that he found himself on Connor's lap. The man was too big to be moved, and took Myriam's drunken blows with grace. 

"You're so good to me." He slurred into Connor's collar, his hand tracing down the linen of his shirt thoughtlessly. "You're so careful and kind."

"Thank you." Connor replied, unlacing his hair from the ribbon it was normally in. Connor's own hair was flowing freely down his back, the locks that hung over his shoulder now hanging down over his own. 

"I don't tell you, but I really do appreciate you. And I like you so much. You make Léon so happy."

Connor brushed aside his bangs, gently cupping the side of his face. "Do I make you happy?"

"Oh yes." He wrapped his arm around the man's neck, flushed with wine. With his other hand, he traced over the shape of Connor's face, handsome and strong. Connor had turned fourty this year, and there was no sign of it on him - beautiful, dexterous and athletic. And his lips looked very soft. Connor was very soft, like a bear. Warm and hardy and vicious when called for. 

He sat up a little straighter, intent on finding out if the look matched the feeling. 

They were completely ignored by the other townsfolk, too busy drinking themselves blind or into their own spouses. In the dying light of the inn's fire, Arno was sure he'd messed up when Connor pulled back. 

"Not here." Connor whispered, standing with Arno still in his arms. "There will be whispers."

Once they were out of the Inn, Arno couldn't help but keep trying. They were soft lips and Connor hadn't said no - he just said they needed to be elsewhere. Connor managed to get them back to the house in full clothes, despite Arno's wandering hands. As soon as the door closed, however, the game changed. 

Connor pulled him close, leaning against the door, and lowered his head to accept Arno's enthusiastic kiss. 

"So beautiful." Connor murmured, wrapping his arms around Arno's waist, slouching a bit and pulling the Frenchman up his body. "So lovely."

He hooked his leg around Connor's waist, threading his fingers into the long tresses. He plastered himself to the elder man's front, slotting their mouths together with all the haste of a horny drunk. He pulled and pushed closer, desperate and wanton. He moaned, loud and unashamed, when Connor's tongue slid into his mouth, panting and squirming in the most undignified manner. 

"Calm down,  _terí:teri_." Connor rumbled, still sweet and kindly even like this. "Slowly."

" _I can't. I want you, I need you._ " He said, unaware of his slip into French. " _You're so good to me._ "

"There will be time for all of it." Connor kissed him again, sweet and slow and filthy. Wet and long enough to leave him gasping open-mouthed, he took a moment to come back to lucidity. "But you must pace yourself. You are drunk."

" _Doesn't mean I don't know what I want._ " He sassed, mouthing at Connor's neck. " _I don't know if I'll have the courage to admit it tomorrow._ "

Connor stared at him, as if he could read the words from his mind instead of attempting to decipher the French. He seemed to make up his mind, setting Arno back on his wobbly feet. "We are going to go upstairs. You need rest."

" _Stay with me. Stay._ " He scrabbled at Connor's shirt, trailing jaggedly after the taller man. 

"Upstairs. We are going upstairs." Connor helped him navigate the stairwell that didn't seem so impossibly wavy this morning. Once at the top, he guided him to his bedroom, gently pushing him down onto the bed and unlacing his boots. 

He laughed somewhat deliriously. " _Good thing Léon isn't home. I get loud like this._ "

Connor began to say things in his language, soothing rumbles and lilting notes. It felt so nice washing over him, so easy and fluid. 

Laying down made him feel suddenly exhausted, and the ceiling was gently rocking. Only Connor's huge, hot hands kept him grounded. His most gracious landlord pulled off his boots and his belts, along with his uncomfortable layers of coats until he was just in his breeches, socks and blouse. 

" _Come back. I want another kiss. You taste so good._ " He slurred, but Connor did come. Connor hadn't been offered a drink and seemed disinclined to get one for himself. That knowledge made the raw look even more sweet, the way he looked as though Arno was everything he would ever need to live. 

" _Teri:terí_." Connor murmured, leaning down and letting him wrap his arms around his neck. They kissed again, sensual and slow and so melting. He was putty against his bear, pressed fully against him and half-covered by him. His drunken courage was ignited again when their reserved areas ground together, hastened by Arno throwing a leg over the hips of the larger man. 

" _What have we here?_ " He giggled, reaching down to grab at it. 

Connor caught his hand, sweetly kissing the palm. "Another time, when you are more coherent. Let us sleep, and we can carry on in the morning. Léon will not bother to return until dinner. We have time."

" _But we want each other now._ "

"I do not speak French." Connor pet his hair down and laid him against the pillow. "I will stay with you, but no more than kissing tonight."

" _I suppose that will do. I enjoy your mouth very much._ "

Connor laid down beside him, their following kisses and touches light and gentle, loving in a profound way. 

* * *

He woke up with a blistering headache and clear morning sun filtering into his room through open and airy curtains. The pounding in his head was matching to the beat of the pillow he was resting on. Then he noticed the rising and falling motion of the pillow. 

He snapped his eyes open and found himself faced with the coppery expanse of  _Connor's naked chest._  

He did his best not to skitter away like he wanted to and made it all the way down to the backyard before he vomited. 

A gentle hand soothed up his back and pulled back his hair, offering a wet rag to wipe his face and mouth, mercifully cool. 

"It has been some time since you drank such a beverage." Connor murmured, even quieter than normal. He must have learned from compensating for Myriam's hangovers. "I should have warned you to slow down, or given you water."

"It's fine." He managed, even with the remorse and humiliation already beginning to set in. "I'll be okay now."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, yes." Élise catching him in a stupor outside Versailles flashed through his mind and he almost vomited again. Oh God, what would she think? "Perhaps it is wise to check and see if the other townsfolk are still alive. I'm sure Myriam and Norris alone put away enough wine to kill whole herds of sheep."

Connor hesitated, dubious. "I feel as though I should take care of you, first."

"Some time alone in the quiet will help." He hoped he wasn't sounding too much like an asshole. "Please. Go check on the others."

Connor's hand slid down his back, but he took the time to tie his hair back. "Drink some and get more rest. I will be back shortly."

"Of course."

Once he waved Connor off, the reproachful guilt was quick to swallow him. 

 


End file.
